


Measurements

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 01:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11956929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elrond’s dream model walks into his studio.





	Measurements

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

For the most part, his fall collection’s finished in record time, thanks in no small part to the pestering of his assistant. Elrond hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in what feels like weeks, and he skipped lunch again today, but he has much to show for it—for once, there shouldn’t be too many last minute details to fret over behind the curtains of the next big show. There’re only a few things left—trim he thinks he might alter and the matching of shoes and makeup, accessories and hairstyles. He thinks he might actually have time to fetch dinner tonight—a _proper_ one, not another packet of lembas. First, he stalls in front of a set of silken lavender robes already off the hanger. The form he’s working on has no arms—another reason he occasionally dresses mannequins during the creative process—but it works well enough to show the shape he was going for. The collar still looks a _tad_ too high to him, but he also knows he should leave that until after he’s selected a model and fit it to them—the model can make all the difference.

He’s just fluffing up that collar when a knock sounds on the door of his studio, and Elrond pauses, frowning in surprise. Erestor hasn’t bothered knocking in years. Arwen is still in Lothlórien, and the twins would’ve called first. But he can see through the glass that it isn’t one of his usual visitors. It’s a young, brown-haired elf with a quiet beauty, peering sheepishly over at him. The man tentatively lifts one hand, offering an awkward smile. 

Elrond smiles more firmly. Though they’ve never met, he recognizes Lindir Figwit instantly, despite the lack of high-fashion styling and designer clothes. He heads straight for the door, drawing it open, and greets, “Lindir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Lindir’s smile instantly brightens, eyes flashing in bewildered delight. It almost makes Elrond chuckle. Even posed and corralled into couture, Lindir always struck him as a thoroughly sweet young man, and that’s exactly what Elrond’s first impression is in person. He offers his hand, adding, “Elrond Peredhel.”

“I know,” Lindir replies, sounding strangely breathless. His voice is lighter than Elrond’s though not particularly high, very lilting and melodic. His small hand all but darts into Elrond’s, feather-soft and paper-light. Elrond gives it a single shake but lets the touch linger, because Lindir seems in no hurry to pull away. His gorgeous face lit up with stars, Lindir gushes, “Ah, I’m sorry—it’s just that I’m such a big fan of your work, truly. Oh! And I hope it isn’t too presumptuous being here—I only just got a call from your office asking if I was interested in modeling for you at Imladris Fashion Week, and when I agreed, I was asked if I wanted to come by and meet you and perhaps book a fitting, and I was only across the street at the time, and I was just so excited that I—oh, but I didn’t mean to disturb you—the man downstairs said I should go up, but I didn’t...” Lindir trails off, his delicate cheeks now dusting a faint pink. Elrond knows well enough why Erestor would insist on Lindir going straight up to his studio—Elrond’s mentioned this particular model on more than one occasion. Lindir works his mouth soundlessly for a moment, then finishes, “I... sorry. I mean to say the pleasure’s all mine.”

Elrond nods warmly, then gestures into his studio, offering, “Would you like to come in?”

Lindir looks wildly happy at the mere suggestion. He steps inside when Elrond steps back, looking everywhere from the long tables of boxed trimmings to the mood-boards on the left wall to the robe-laden dress-forms along the right. These he ogles most, seeming to drift towards them almost in a daze. He asks, “Is this your fall collection...?”

“Yes.” Elrond closes the door, following Lindir in.

Lindir takes another look at him before hesitantly approaching the nearest outfit—floor-length sapphire robes with dramatic bell sleeves and a corset back. Lindir eyes it the way Elrond always hopes his clothes will be received, though it’s rare for him to actually earn such raw admiration. He’s grown used to the flashing tabloids and the shallow praise of his fellow designers, but _this_ —genuine moments of artistic appreciation—is what’s kept him in the business. 

As Lindir examines one set after another, Elrond’s silent, simply enjoying that reaction. But Lindir turns back to him between every piece, and by the time he’s reached the lavender set, Elrond presses, “Are you interested, then? In modeling one?”

“I would be honoured,” Lindir answers without missing a beat, turning right back to him. Beaming, Lindir sighs, “Really, you have no idea—you’re my absolute favourite designer, Mr. Peredhel. You’re why I got into the industry in the first place—” again, he cuts himself off, this time biting down on his lower lip, his cheeks staining darker. He’s as utterly adorable here as he is striking in magazines. Elrond can feel himself grinning lightly in response, though he’s usually considered a somewhat somber person. Thranduil, for instance, a rather flamboyant rival, insists Elrond will never have top billing for just that reason.

It’s hard not to be touched under Lindir’s adoring gaze, and Elrond softly returns, “Thank you; I’m very flattered. ...‘Elrond’ will do though, if you don’t mind—the ‘Mr’ makes me feel even older than I already am.”

Lindir hurriedly says, “Oh, you’re not—” but Elrond waves a hand, chuckling. For their industry, he certainly _is_. It’s still nice to see Lindir’s shocked expression and know he must sincerely think otherwise.

Before they devolve into mutual fawning, Elrond eyes his work, asking, “Which would you like to wear?”

“My choice?” When Elrond nods, Lindir blinks dazedly. It isn’t usually how things are done—Elrond generally matches his outfits to his models deliberately and thoughtfully. But Lindir personifies the exact kind of beauty he’s always tried to capture, and he has no doubt that Lindir will make any of them look stunning.

Returning to the clothes, Lindir steps towards them. It gives Elrond a moment to really take him in—his long hair is braided neatly down his back, and he wears tight jeans and a cream-coloured sweater, a plaid scarf around his neck and a taupe book bag at his side. It all looks as though it could’ve been bought at any chain store, and yet Elrond could also imagine seeing Lindir just like this in the glossy pages of _Forodwaith Fashion_.

Despite the growing rumble in his stomach, Elrond patiently waits as Lindir examines each option. It’s easily worth it for the company alone, being able to bask in Lindir’s quiet manner and admire the grace of his lithe movements. Finally, he stops before the lavender piece Elrond started with. Then he glances to Elrond and murmurs, “Your work is truly _exquisite_ , Mr.—Elrond. I always thought that, but to see them in person... to have an up-close look at all the little details...” He sighs enviously, then concludes, “Could I... perhaps wear this one...?”

“Of course,” Elrond answers, pleased at the choice. The collar will fit Lindir’s slender throat exactly, just the way it is. “Would you like to try it on now?”

Blushing deeply, Lindir murmurs, “I usually like to be taken to dinner before I change in front of a man...” Then his eyes widen, a hand lifting to clamp over his mouth, and he all but squeaks, “Sorry! That was a terrible joke, I don’t know why—”

But Elrond only chuckles, more than understanding the anxiety. “It’s fine,” he insists. “I do have a supply room to your left that could serve as a changing room, but you do bring up a good point—it is about dinnertime, and you did actually catch me just before I was about to go out and have a bite. But I would be honoured to treat you to dinner as a thank you for so promptly and courteously answering my request. Have you eaten?” Normally, he wouldn’t be so bold. But Lindir is just so very _lovely_ , and he doesn’t want this meeting to end simply because he requires sustenance to remain on his feet. 

Lindir slowly shakes his head, breathing reverently, “No, I haven’t. I... I would _love_ to have dinner with you.”

“Excellent.” Elrond can already feel a pleasant tingling in his chest that he hasn’t felt in years—probably since the last time he extended such an invitation. He’s sure he’ll scold himself later for it. He’ll step back and realize this is somewhat inappropriate—Lindir’s younger by several years, and it’s never wise to mix business and pleasure.

But for once, Elrond lets his heart overrule his mind. He already holds this inspiring stranger in such high esteem. He just can’t bring himself to cut this short. And, he suggests, “I’d love to hear about your shoot last month in Mirkwood.”

“You saw that?” Lindir answers happily. “I’ll tell you all about it. And... I would love to hear about your work, too. Your process, and especially your spring collection. The athelas gown at the end nearly made my heart stop...” 

Charmed, Elrond nods to signify that it’s a deal. He gestures towards the door, and Lindir heads towards it, Elrond falling in beside him, the two of them stepping out into the start of something wonderful.


End file.
